Grey Howl

by Clea Simon

  She stroked the small cat, then continued. ‘I had forgotten about it – about them – until just a little while ago.’ She glanced up at Rogovoy. ‘We’ve been keeping Mr Thorpe’s kitten at the departmental offices, and I went back after he became ill to retrieve the little fellow. I have a spare key to his office in my desk; when I went to retrieve it, I saw the list again.’

  ‘But I thought they were incomplete?’ Dulcie didn’t understand. ‘You told us they could still be changed.’

  Nancy was nodding now. ‘Yes, that’s true. But I had working titles and rough ideas. Nothing published yet, but you know how Mr Thorpe is.’ She paused. ‘We like to be prepared.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Miss—’ Rogovoy broke in, his voice gruff. ‘Miss Pruitt? How does this pertain to the matter at hand?’

  ‘When Marco Tesla called, saying he was interested in attending, I asked him for a title. He explained that he was trying to re-create a work that he had lost, that had been erased from his computer systems, but that he believed he’d have ready by Saturday. He was calling it ‘The Look of Love: Deconstructing the Appearance of Affection in Late Twentieth Century Gender-Specific Romance’.

  ‘But I thought that—’ Dulcie stopped and turned. She and Nancy were both staring at Stella Roebuck, who had gone even paler.

  ‘I can explain.’ Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

  ‘Dulcie?’ Chris turned to her.

  ‘That’s why she erased it, Chris.’ Dulcie said. Beside her, Nancy nodded. ‘She stole Marco Tesla’s work and was going to present it as her own. Only when he showed up here, she had to get rid of it. That’s why she panicked when you were close to tracing it. Why she knocked Kelly out and tried to make it look like you two stole her laptop. She needed to ditch it—’

  ‘Okay, I’ve heard enough.’ Rogovoy was clearly losing patience. ‘You’re going to have to come with me, miss – Professor.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that,’ Stella yelled, pulling away. ‘Marco and I were lovers. Collaborators. We shared everything.’

  ‘Is that why you drugged him?’ Nancy had taken on an unaccustomed vehemence. ‘Mr Tesla, and Mr Barnes and Mr Thorpe too?’

  ‘What? No.’ She was shaking her head. ‘It was Barnes who turned Marco against me. Barnes who was with Marco before I got there. Ask him.’

  ‘I’m sure we will, Ms Roebuck.’ Rogovoy nodded to a woman in uniform and she came forward to take Roebuck’s arm. ‘If he ever wakes up.’

  FIFTY-TWO

  ‘Nancy, you should go home.’ The waiting room had cleared out by then, leaving only Dulcie and Chris to sit with the secretary. ‘You need some rest.’

  ‘I need to be here.’ She blinked and sat up straighter. She had retrieved Tigger’s box by then and placed the sleeping kitten back in it. The orderly had given up. ‘For when Mr Thorpe wakes up.’

  Dulcie sighed and exchanged a look with Chris. There wasn’t really a case to argue here. She’d have done the same.

  ‘Why don’t I get us something to eat, then.’ Chris looked from one woman to another. ‘It might be a long night.’

  ‘Thanks, Chris.’ She reached out to take his hand as he stood. ‘And thanks again for finding that bottle.’ Rogovoy’s people had taken it, as well as Chris’s statement. He’d been warned about staying in touch, but nobody seemed seriously concerned that he had done anything other than retrieve it.

  ‘Glad I could find it,’ he said, zipping up his coat. ‘But, you know, it’s funny. I still don’t know why she did it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Dulcie kept her voice low. Nancy had nodded out again, her chin on her chest, and Dulcie didn’t want to wake her.

  ‘She’d pretty much destroyed the evidence. I mean, she didn’t know I’d be able to find it. Why drug Thorpe – or Barnes?’

  Dulcie shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Maybe Barnes was on to her? Maybe he was going to give her away? Maybe he’d said something to Thorpe?’

  ‘It’s like she just wanted to ruin the conference. But she had so much riding on it.’ He pulled his knit cap over his ears. ‘Pizza okay?’

  ‘Pizza would be great, Chris. Thank you.’

  It was nice to have someone looking out for you, Dulcie thought, and with a stab of guilt thought of her mother. Lucy did her best, and she did it alone. Well, Dulcie corrected herself, with only the help of her sister ‘crones’ at the commune. And Dulcie couldn’t even be bothered to call her back.

  Pulling the phone from her bag, Dulcie made a silent promise. Yes, her mother was nutty. But Lucy loved her. From now on, Dulcie would make more of an effort to keep in touch. For starters, she could at least listen to her messages.

  ‘Dulcie, about that shape shifter,’ the message began. As Dulcie suspected, her mother had picked up their last conversation right from when they’d gotten disconnected. Now, she tried to remember what her mother had been saying: something about the kitten and about ‘shape shifters’ not all being bad?

  ‘They can seem threatening, but that may be part of the protective aura. The wolf in the dog, so to speak.’ Lucy was rambling. ‘I see one close to you. Close to your mission, Dulcie. I see it – her – clearly. That kitten is orange, right? Kind of reddish?’ Dulcie shook her head. Her mother meant well, but there was no logic in her view of the world. ‘That may be key. And there may be others.’

  Tomorrow, she’d deal. It had been an exhausting day. The gentle purr emanating from Tigger’s carrier was soft and rhythmic, and Dulcie found herself beginning to doze. She’d only closed her eyes for a moment, she was sure, when she opened them to see Professor Showalter in front of her.

  ‘There you are.’ Professor Showalter’s auburn bun looked a little messier than usual. They’d all been having quite a day. ‘I came back here as soon as I heard. That nice detective wanted me to go back to the hotel, but I can’t believe …’ She scanned the room.

  Dulcie nodded in silent agreement. ‘It’s been crazy,’ she said finally. Then, taking in her mentor’s late arrival, she asked. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, what were you doing – yesterday and this morning in the Mildon?’

  ‘I had to verify the Philadelphia letters.’ Showalter actually blushed. ‘I felt responsible, you see, since I’d passed them on to you.’

  ‘The Philadelphia letters.’ It felt like a million years ago that Dulcie had worried about them. She certainly didn’t want her mentor to feel bad about them. ‘I never did know why you doubted them.’

  Showalter shook her head, her brow furrowed. ‘I should know better,’ she said with a new determination. ‘It was something Paul had said, something about how he’d looked at that research and dismissed it, out of hand. Plus, I got that strange, well … that strange feeling that something was wrong. I thought that was about the papers, at first. It seemed the most likely option. But once I heard that Barnes had asked you to collaborate, I realized there was another possibility.’

  ‘He wants to get his hands on those papers, doesn’t he?’ The realization hit Dulcie with a dull thud. ‘It’s the papers he wants access to, not me. He didn’t know that he could apply for access, that he could have gone to the Mildon himself and done his own analysis.’

  ‘Not exactly.’ Showalter’s voice was gentle.

  For a moment, Dulcie felt hope spark again. ‘You mean, he never applied because he did want to work with me?’

  ‘He should have.’ Showalter was shaking her head. ‘It would have been more seemly. But no, it wasn’t because he wanted to work with you that he didn’t apply. He wanted you to do the work.’

  Dulcie’s heart sank as Showalter continued.

  ‘There was no way for you to know, Dulcie, but I’m afraid that’s his modus operandi. Get a brilliant grad student and then claim credit for her work. That’s why I wanted to speak with you about his so-called offer. Why I’ve been trying to talk him into coming clean. Why do you think there’s such bad blood between him and Stella Roebuck?’

  ‘She was his grad student? But that mus
t have been years ago.’

  Showalter nodded. ‘Some people say she was the real author – uncredited, of course – of So Many Cities, So Many Hills.’

  That took a moment to sink in. ‘If that’s the case, then why did she switch? I mean, nothing could be more different from eighteenth century prose …’ As she was forming the words, the answer came to her. ‘Marco Tesla? She met Marco and adopted his style – and his area of expertise. And then she stole his work?’

  ‘It’s how she was taught.’ Showalter’s voice was gentle. ‘They were lovers, so perhaps she felt entitled.’

  ‘But Tesla knew. He knew she was the one.’ Dulcie didn’t understand. ‘I think Paul Barnes must have told him.’

  Showalter looked at her, about to interrupt, but Dulcie kept talking.

  ‘You missed it,’ Dulcie said. ‘Chris found proof – well, as good as we’re going to get – that Stella had erased her own paper. She had to. Marco was here, and he would have exposed her.’ The reality hit her. ‘Unless she killed him.’

  ‘Marco wouldn’t have exposed her.’ Showalter was shaking her head. ‘He knew about Stella because I told him. I’d figured out what happened, from her history. From what I’ve seen Paul do. But Marco only wanted to talk to her. That’s why he came here. He wanted her to step down, of course. He’d emailed her. I know he felt betrayed. But he loved her, in his way, and he was hoping for a private opportunity to confront her. I still think it must have been some kind of horrible accident.’

  ‘Maybe he was drunk. Those drinks were strong. Thorpe—’ She stopped. Thorpe had been made a fool of. With Stella discredited and Thorpe humiliated, Tesla was the obvious front runner. Unless …

  ‘Oh, dear Bast,’ said Dulcie, not noticing the gentle smile her invocation provoked. ‘Paul Barnes was in Cambridge early. He must have been hoping to get Stella alone. He knew what she was capable of, and he was trying to blackmail her. Then he drugged Martin Thorpe and set you up for it. Thorpe said you handed him the glass, but Barnes was at the party with you, wasn’t he? He drugged me, because I was becoming too nosy. And then he dosed himself, just when the police started asking questions.

  ‘He must have drugged Marco Tesla, too. I don’t know if he meant to make a fool out of him, or what. But if Tesla already knew about Stella and they fought …’

  ‘What?’ Nancy had woken up and was staring at her. ‘Dulcie, what are you saying?’

  Dulcie looked up at Showalter, the horror of it all hitting her. ‘Chris saw it.’ It was all becoming clear. ‘He saw Paul Barnes with the bottle. I just assumed – but it was Barnes all along. He was trying to frame you for Marco’s death, wasn’t he? That would have made him the best remaining candidate, even if he hadn’t published in years. If it hadn’t been for that dog …’

  Dulcie turned toward her mentor, about to explain, when it hit her. Lucy’s message. Shape shifters. Her mentor’s flushed confusion when questioned. Could it be …?

  Renée Showalter was looking at the floor, blushing slightly, as she tucked one loose red strand behind her ear, and Dulcie just closed her mouth, happy to let one mystery remain unsolved.

  FIFTY-THREE

  Through no Malice of Man could Nature be delayed. No ill-will nor seeming Fairness would suffice. The pale Dawn reached above the stony Peak, sifting through the barren branches of the Forest, seeping through the mists. Despite her utmost fears, into her Chamber stark and chill, its Light began its lowly work, fixing first upon her own hands and then beyond upon her work. She knew it then for what it was, saw with unclouded Eyes that which had seemed so fair. And if the Terrors of the Night were then dismissed, so too her greatest Hopes. The journey would continue, upon hard Stones and far by Water. So, too, would this undying Hope illuminate her years, a comfort in the coldest days, bringing warmth to a world cold and Grey. Even on the coldest days, the Journey would continue.

  Despite the pizza, Dulcie slept soundly. Even her dreams, as vivid as always, took a hopeful turn, and she woke in the morning more refreshed than she would have expected.

  ‘Chris.’ She nudged her boyfriend and, in the process, dislodged Esmé, who had commandeered the pillow beside him.

  ‘Mruf.’ The muffled reply soon gave way to a gentle snore, and so Dulcie slid out of bed. Esmé landed with a thud beside her and together they made their way to the kitchen. Without another word, Dulcie opened a can for the cat and was rewarded by the soft press of fur against her bare shins.

  ‘You’re welcome, Esmé,’ she said, and proceeded to set up the coffee. ‘I do appreciate loyalty, you know. I was simply worried.’ She paused. ‘Not without reason.’

  The cat, digging into the moist food, didn’t look up.

  ‘You could have helped me out more, Esmé. I mean, “Not Chris”?’ Dulcie looked down at the young cat. ‘Was that the best you could do?’

  ‘I know what I know.’ The voice was faint compared to the sound of lapping. ‘You don’t …’

  ‘I don’t what?’ Those scratches on Chris’s hands. They could have been the kitten’s doing. A virus. ‘Esmé?’

  With an almost imperceptible shrug, Esmé stopped eating and began to wash. And Dulcie, now that it was daylight, decided to let her wilder suppositions go.

  ‘I wasn’t that taken by Paul Barnes.’ The cat ignored her. ‘It was just …’ Dulcie paused. What had come over her? Was it simply that a big name, one that she knew from his book, had taken an interest in her? Or was it the famed conference madness getting a hold on her, after all? Nobody else had taken him seriously as either a scholar or a candidate for the job. Not while there were any other candidates standing. And this morning, she knew, he’d have slept off the drug’s effects and wakened to find himself facing criminal charges. A last desperate act by a man at his wits’ ends.

  ‘At least he won’t take advantage of any other graduate students,’ she said to the preoccupied cat.

  ‘He? You mean “she”, don’t you?’ Chris shambled into the kitchen, still half asleep and looking particularly shaggy. ‘I mean, it was that Roebuck person who had me running in circles. Well, her and Thorpe.’

  ‘It was the conference, Chris.’ She poured the coffee. ‘Too much pressure on everyone. It’s enough to make anyone crazy. Not that that excuses what she did.’

  He accepted a mug and sat, nodding, one hand rubbing a slightly heavier than usual beard. ‘Maybe so. But what’s going to happen to the conference?’

  Dulcie shook her head. By the time Rogovoy had heard the story last night, Martin Thorpe was resting comfortably. The resident on overnight hadn’t wanted anyone to visit, but Nancy had found a way to sneak in – with Tigger – and had emerged blushing to report he’d be back at work in the morning. Renée Showalter had retired, finally, to the conference hotel. But without Paul Barnes, Marco Tesla, and Stella Roebuck, the schedule would be sadly attenuated.

  ‘Kelly will be grateful,’ Chris noted. ‘At least the scheduling problems will be gone.’

  Dulcie drank some of her coffee. It was too hot still, and it burned. But that was better than asking how close Chris had gotten to the slender tech. He hadn’t questioned her enthusiasm about the silver-haired academic.

  ‘I just wish I knew …’ She left it open. There was, after all, so much that could happen. That might still come to be.

  Just then, Esmé jumped up and ran from the room. ‘Esmé?’ Chris asked, just as a phone rang in the living room.

  ‘I’ll get it.’ Chris went to retrieve it, leaving Dulcie to her coffee. Another reason, she realized, why living with him was good.

  A moment later he was back, a wide grin brightening his stubbly face. ‘Here,’ was all he said.

  ‘Ms Schwartz?’ It was Martin Thorpe, sounding healthier and more confident than she could remember. ‘I’d like to discuss some changes with you.’

  Inwardly, Dulcie groaned. If he was going to have her run errands again today, after all this …

  ‘The conference will, of course, need to be so
mewhat curtailed,’ her adviser was saying. ‘But I’ve already spoken with the dean, and I believe we’ve come up with a workable plan.’

  Dulcie reached for a pen and paper, as he explained about the rescheduled keynote address and how now all the papers would be presented in Lecture Hall B.

  ‘It seems there was a mishap in the other auditorium yesterday,’ he was saying. ‘Something with cleaning solution and a stray spark, so this is really better all the way around. Besides, this will concentrate the audience; make sure every presentation is heard. But, Ms Schwartz?’

  ‘Yes?’ Dulcie could hear the wince in her own voice.

  ‘I am wondering if you would consider moving up your presentation. We need someone to fill in before Professor Showalter’s talk and she suggested you.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Would you – do you think you’d be up to addressing the main hall? Professor Showalter and I could both take some time today to help you prepare.’

  ‘I would love to, Mr Thorpe,’ said Dulcie. She looked up and met Chris’s grin with a big smile of her own. ‘I can be down there in a half hour.’

  ‘And I’ll meet you in an hour,’ said Thorpe. In the background, a small sound – perhaps a giggle, perhaps a mew. But all Dulcie could hear was the warm whirring of a purr that rose up to meet her, like warmth. Like love.

  ‘Even on the coldest days,’ the purr seemed to say. ‘The journey will continue.’